Loyalism, Or Unionism, Or Protestantism, Or Whatever

The Dotted Line My Father's Ashplant Made On Sandymount Strand Is Something Else The Tide Won't Wash Away.

The Gift Of Writing Is To Be Self-forgetful... To Get A Surge Of Inner Life Or Inner Supply Or Unexpected Sense Of Empowerment, To Be Afloat, To Be Out Of Yourself.

Part Of My Gradual Education Of Myself Has Been To Think That There Is A Deep Relationship Between The Nature Of The Creature And The Worth Of The Art.

To Begin With, I Wanted That Truth To Life To Possess A Concrete Reliability, And Rejoiced Most When The Poem Seemed Most Direct, An Upfront Representation Of The World It Stood In For Or Stood Up For Or Stood Its Ground Against.

If Poetry And The Arts Do Anything, They Can Fortify Your Inner Life, Your Inwardness.